what is that summary of the poem The Trees are down by Charlotte Mew
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An unspecified group of people is cutting down grand trees at the furthermost part of a group of gardens. They have been doing so for days, causing a ruckus that includes saws grinding against the trees, branches swishing to the ground, crashing tree trunks, and leaves that rustle as they are trampled. These sounds are accompanied by the "whoops" and "whoas" of male workers who talk and laugh crudely and loudly as they cut down the trees, their voices dominating the site.
The speaker is reminded of a Spring night years ago, when the speaker entered a gate, stepped out of a carriage, and came upon a big rat lying dead in a muddy driveway. The speaker recalls thinking that rats are wretched no matter if they are alive or dead, but that even a rat ought to be alive in May.
The workers' task for the week is drawing to a close—essentially done. There is a single limb remaining on the last tree trunk that is marked with rope (to designate that it will be cut down). The tall, green branch is lonely in the grey sky, from which delicate raindrops fall. A worker calls out, "Down now!," indicating that the men are cutting down the final tree. If it wasn't for this incident with the trees, the speaker would never have thought of the rat again, as it disrupted Spring's atmosphere of liveliness and renewal for just a moment.
However, on this day, that atmosphere is disrupted on a much greater scale. The trees that have been cut down were large and magnificent, and Spring lived within them, from the trees' roots to their stems. From the speaker's perspective, half of the Spring will disappear when the loud, crude men carry the rustling, beautiful remnants of the trees away.
Now the trees' remains are being carted off, and this hurts the speaker's heart, as if the speaker has been struck to the core like the trees have. The speaker's heart has beat along with those of the trees for half of the speaker's life, across many seasons, weathering March winds, May breezes, and powerful gusts that traveled to the trees from the sea across rooftops. There was only the quiet sound of rain as the trees were dying. The trees must have heard sparrows flitting about and little creatures creeping through the earth where they lay. All day the speaker heard the cries of an angel, calling out "Hurt not the trees." But
The speaker is reminded of a Spring night years ago, when the speaker entered a gate, stepped out of a carriage, and came upon a big rat lying dead in a muddy driveway. The speaker recalls thinking that rats are wretched no matter if they are alive or dead, but that even a rat ought to be alive in May.
The workers' task for the week is drawing to a close—essentially done. There is a single limb remaining on the last tree trunk that is marked with rope (to designate that it will be cut down). The tall, green branch is lonely in the grey sky, from which delicate raindrops fall. A worker calls out, "Down now!," indicating that the men are cutting down the final tree. If it wasn't for this incident with the trees, the speaker would never have thought of the rat again, as it disrupted Spring's atmosphere of liveliness and renewal for just a moment.
However, on this day, that atmosphere is disrupted on a much greater scale. The trees that have been cut down were large and magnificent, and Spring lived within them, from the trees' roots to their stems. From the speaker's perspective, half of the Spring will disappear when the loud, crude men carry the rustling, beautiful remnants of the trees away.
Now the trees' remains are being carted off, and this hurts the speaker's heart, as if the speaker has been struck to the core like the trees have. The speaker's heart has beat along with those of the trees for half of the speaker's life, across many seasons, weathering March winds, May breezes, and powerful gusts that traveled to the trees from the sea across rooftops. There was only the quiet sound of rain as the trees were dying. The trees must have heard sparrows flitting about and little creatures creeping through the earth where they lay. All day the speaker heard the cries of an angel, calling out "Hurt not the trees." But
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